


Homecoming

by MyMisguidedFairytale



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst, Challenge Response, Closure, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Harlequin, Inspired by Novel, Loss, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Obscureshipping, One Shot, One True Pairing, Past Character Death, Regency, Regency Romance, Returning Home, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 06:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMisguidedFairytale/pseuds/MyMisguidedFairytale
Summary: She wonders if she’s doing the right thing, in coming back. The house survived for so long without her, and she always believed she could survive without it, and everything it stood for. There are a great many things she can think of that are in need of rebuilding, and this house is the least of them. / Regency Era England AU, Obscureshipping Ishizu x Shaadi, Written for the Unconventional Courtship Harlequin Challenge





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written 04-12-13 for the Unconventional Courtship Harlequin AU fic challenge. The story and its notes are reproduced below as they first appeared. With this story I finally end my months-long project of importing over every single YGO one-shot I've ever written to Ao3! Next up will come a collection of drabbles, and then that's it!
> 
> A/N: Written for the [Unconventional Courtship](http://unconventionalcourtship.dreamwidth.org/) Harlequin AU fic challenge, using summary [#15](https://www.livejournal.com/rsearch/?tags=%2315), The Officer and the Lady, as my inspiration. I’ve changed two things about the original prompt, namely giving it a Regency England setting and switching the gender roles. This features the YGO pairing of Obscureshipping (Ishizu x Shaadi). There are no canonical names for Mr. and Mrs. Ishtar, but I have given them the names _Nassor_ and _Panya_ , respectively. I hope you enjoy the story.

__

_**Homecoming** _

  
When she first leaves the Ishtar Estate, she swears she will never return. There is nothing left there for her— not in the immaculately kept gardens, not in the large, sprawling brick house, covered with ivy on one side, not in the family who lived within it or those who served them. She burns the letters they send and uses her inheritance to build a life for herself, intending to send back the money once she can do so. Rishid had stayed behind to care for Marik, still under Nassor’s iron grip, and that had been the last she’d heard of them.

The letters are always written in Nassor’s hand. They never mention her brothers. She remembers the day she had left—it was raining, and the sky seemed to suck all of the life out of the tall grasses and rolling hills, painting the world in the drabbest shade of gray. Now, as she returns, to a sunrise so majestic it seems like the sun and stars are returning the life they’d stolen, it seems less like an apology and more like a condolence.

The house has fared poorly in her absence, and as it first comes into view she barely recognizes it. Columns are cracked and stained from water and the evidence of the fire that had taken Nassor and her brothers’ lives. The ivy has grown uncontrollably, and seems to overtake the entire left wing of the house in a verdant, roiling curtain. The carriage rolls to a stop.

She enters the house with a valise in one hand, instructing her driver to unload the rest of her boxes and cases. In the entryway, she stands and looks down the darkened corridors, each step creaking over dusty wooden floors.

“Hello?” she calls out, stepping into the parlor and looking past the neatly kept shelves and dusted tables. This room has been repaired, she realizes, and well kept. She had been told that there would be staff on hand to meet her, but excepting this room, the house seems entirely vacant.  
  
She tries again. “Hello?”

She hears more floorboards creaking several rooms over, and when a dark-suited figure appears in the doorway and bows before her she is gripped with a sudden wistfulness, remembering how the very same man would bow to her when they both were children, her the oldest of the Ishtar family, him the son of her father’s valet. Each member of the Estate’s staff was entirely devoted to their charges, and just seeing one person she remembers is enough to make her forget about how much she barely recognizes the house, if only for a moment.

“Miss Ishizu Ishtar, I apologize,” he says, before rising and walking over to a side cabinet and pulling out a large metal candlestick. “If I had known you were coming today I would have done more—prepared a meal, or cleaned more of the upper rooms. Your old room is ready for you if you want it, as well as the master’s rooms, if those would be more to your liking.”

“Shaadi.” She says his name with a smile, and when he holds out the candlestick, lit with three blazing tapers, she sets her valise down and takes it. “It is good to see a familiar face. I am glad you are here. Where are the others?”

Shaadi’s own smile is sad, and he walks around her to pick up her valise, taking his time before he speaks. “There are no others. I am the only one who remained behind after…” He swallows, and his fingers tighten around the valise’s handle. “This house is as much a part of me as I am of it. I live for your family, so I will try to serve you to the best of my ability, if you would have me.” He bows again.

“You have already done much,” she says, knowing that the restoration of the parlor and the two bedrooms he mentioned must have been his work. “It would be my honor.”

“Let me show you the rooms.” He crosses the floor, and she follows him back into the hallway. “It will not be as you remember—the fire destroyed much of the back of the house, and I have determined that while it is safe to live in, it will take a lot of work and money to rebuild.”

“I won’t be staying for that,” she says, and he stops before the stairs.

“Why not?”

“I’m only here to see to the settlement of my family’s affairs,” she tells him. “I know I…missed the funerals, but there is still the matter of what to do with the house and the money Nassor left behind. I am sure there are debts to be settled, and once my business is complete here I will be returning to London. There is nothing for me out here, Shaadi.”

“I see.” He turns and ascends the staircase, taking each step slowly. The candlestick in her hand burns bright, and she uses it to study the house—the blackened wallpaper, the particles of dust floating in the light pouring in from open windows, and the straight back and unyielding determination of the man walking in front of her.

He opens a door, and she can see how beautifully the room has been restored—the furniture is simple, just the basics, and it looks very different from how she remembers it—there is barely a trace of Nassor left in this room. The large mantle above the hearth is the only recognizable feature.

When Shaadi speaks, his voice is guarded. “You are the master of the house now. It is only fitting that this should be yours, if you want it.”

She wavers for only a second, her eyes sweeping across the room, to the large window overlooking the back gardens. From her place by the wall, she can only see the bright blue of the cloudless sky.

“Yes,” she says, slowly. “I’ll take this room. You’re right—it is mine now.”

“I’ll have your things brought inside. Please excuse me.” He bows again. “I’ll be in the library, if you wish to find me.”

After he closes the door and leaves, she walks to the bed and sits down. She looks at the hearth, and wonders if it was in this room that the fire began. She wonders who lit the flames.

The rest of the room may be immaculate and clean, but the hearth is still full of soot and ash, stuck in time. It is not something that would have been easy to clean—it is the sort of thing that lasts, a tribute to the lives lost.

She does not allow herself to cry, but she cannot bring herself to do anything but collapse on her side and draw her arms in close, taking deep shuddering breaths until she feels calm again.

She wonders if she’s doing the right thing, in coming back. The house survived for so long without her, and she always believed she could survive without it, and everything it stood for.

Ishizu rolls over again, sitting up and facing the window that shows nothing but clear blue sky. She stands and walks towards it, resting her arms on the sill, and looks out at all of the land for miles. Below, she can see that the damage was at its worst on the left wing of the house, and while it is blackened and vacant, it has not fallen.

It is still standing, and so is she.

\--

  
When she walks into the library, she doesn’t know what she was expecting. Certainly not this—the room looks to be midway in restoration—the ceilings are bare and discolored by the evidence of smoke, but the rugs and what little furniture remains in the room are new.

Catching sight of the far wall, covered in bookcases, her heart falls. Shaadi is working near the corner, cleaning an empty shelf, newly constructed out of a dark stained wood. There is no ornamentation, and the construction is rough; she wonders if he has built it himself.

The shelves closest to her, however, are still full of whatever they had held prior to the fire. Ishizu walks closer, and when Shaadi hears her footsteps, he turns.

“Nassor hated books,” she says, reaching out towards a row of cracked leather spines. Her fingers hesitate, and she withdraws them. “But Panya loved them, so he built this for her.”

“I know.”

She feels silly for even bringing it up. Of course he would know her family better than she does.

“There are so many missing.” Ishizu notes the empty shelves, and remembers the volumes that filled them. First editions, books of a dozen different languages, and historical artifacts had filled these shelves, relics from every corner of the globe, combining both Nassor and Panya’s loves. And all of it reduced to ash. Their love could not save her life. Their love could not stop a fire. She has not ever tried to love, for fear of having something so precious to lose.

“Paper burns fast,” Shaadi says. “I was in this room. Before long, I could not see through the smoke, but I grabbed as much as I could. I…” And he hesitates, shoulders slumping. “I had to sell many things to settle your family’s debts in your absence, and to begin the restoration. I admit, however, that I have financed the majority of it myself. All of the work has been mine.”

She looks up so sharply her head spins, her study of the blackened books forgotten. “You—”

“Many of the titles and grants burned. Bribes had to be paid. We had not heard from you in so long, we did not know if…” His voice breaks, and he exhales sharply to conceal a shudder. “I did not want to believe you were dead.”

She had never stayed in one place for long, running from one salon to the next while in London and taking ships bound for France or Portugal when the government had need of her language skills.

“I am taking my time with this room,” Shaadi continues, his tone almost reverent. “I want to make its restoration perfect.”

“It was my favorite,” Ishizu admits softly. At Shaadi’s glance, she gives him a sad smile. “I learned so much in this room. I learned to read, but I also learned to hate.”

“I am sorry,” Shaadi offers. “for your brother’s cruel treatment.”

“And now he’s dead, and so is Nassor.” It’s refreshing, to know that everyone responsible for her brother’s pain is dead, but it sickens her to know that she is the last of her name. “I _left_ him. Nassor _burned_ something into his skin and I _left_ him.”

“If you hadn’t, you might be dead too,” Shaadi reminds her, his voice as cold as the air, and as still as the resulting silence.

When she finally speaks, he has to strain to hear. “At least I wouldn’t be alone.”

“You’re not alone. And you’ll never be alone again,” Shaadi tells her. “Unless you wish for me to leave.”

“I…have grown accustomed to loneliness,” she says. “It is how I have survived, all these years.”

“You could learn.” He turns back towards the wall, giving his attention now towards cleaning the windows.

“This room was never my favorite,” he continues, and Ishizu is grateful for the change.

“Which one was?” she asks. At her use of _was_ , he frowns in disapproval; she can see it in his reflection in the glass.

“You’ll see my favorite soon enough,” he says. “I’m not ready to show it to you yet.”

She’s seen most of the house on her own explorations, and it puzzles her that there could be a space he has finished that she has yet to see. Was it in one of the cellars? Or by the carriage house?

“So it’s a surprise, then?”

He nods, and she leaves, walking back towards the front of the house and thinking about searching for whatever surprise he has planned. She’s never liked when other people keep secrets.

She thinks about going for a walk, but the weather is almost too nice for that. She wants a storm, something she can lose herself in, something that can match her anger.

So instead she unpacks, wondering the entire time why she’s doing it if she’s just going to have to pack everything up again a few days later. It makes no sense to move in, to treat this room as anything other than temporary.

But then she stares at the bottom of her empty bags, and doesn’t feel so empty herself anymore.

\--

  
He’s cooked dinner for the two of them every night, something basic and bland, and she can’t bring herself to even provide small-talk across the table that used to seat a dozen comfortably. She’d have to shout to be heard, and already the clinking of spoons against bowls is loud as gunfire to her ears.

So they do not talk, and every day progresses the same—Ishizu leaves to visit with various local officials and family friends, and returns late in the evenings. Too late to watch Shaadi work, and while he waits during their dinners for her to break the silence and ask him about his progress, she stumbles over words that never even leave her throat.

She doesn’t want to talk about the past, so she refuses to ask him about it. After their prior conversation, he’s not keen to ask her questions about her future. They end up saying nothing at all, and for some time, that suits her perfectly.

She lets two whole days pass after her last meeting without arranging for transportation back to London. Some part of her doesn’t want to leave, although the majority of her business is complete. There is still the matter of the house—it would make more sense to sell the property than to keep it if she did not intend to live in it, but then she watches Shaadi hard at work, rebuilding the house room-by-room, and something in her chest tightens. She wonders why she cannot have the same dedication to it that he has. She wonders what she has at all in her life that she can say she is as devoted to.

She postpones packing her things, but that morning she tells Shaadi to arrange for a carriage to take her back to London the following day. There’s no sense putting it off, she tells him, and smiles to make herself believe it. He bows, and leaves her, and she does not see him for the rest of the day. She waits for him in the dining room, at the end of that long table, and still he is not there. When the sun touches the edge of the horizon, he appears, looking out of breath, and declares that her surprise is finally ready.

He takes her by the elbow, leading her towards the back of the house, and asks that she close her eyes.

“I’ll tell you when you can open them again,” he says. “Just follow me. I won’t let you fall.”

She takes uneven steps, and wraps her hand around his arm a bit tighter. The level changes as they go from one room—the kitchens? She can smell whatever was cooked here recently—and outside to steps and eventually, grass. The air is cool, and the breeze blows her hair against her face, but she makes no move to brush it away. She does not need her eyes when she has Shaadi to guide her.

She has no time for curiosity, but when Shaadi lightly releases her arm and settles both his hands on her shoulders to turn her body to the side, she wonders just what he has done to this space. Ishizu has little memory of the gardens as they had existed before the fire, but she remembers it had been very neatly ordered—well-trimmed hedges, controlled flowerbeds, none of the ivy that plagued the left wing of the house.

“Open your eyes,” he tells her, and she does, gasping at the transformation. It is clear to her that when he spoke of his favorite part of the house, he was speaking of this garden. It is beautiful in a wild way, and he has combined the brokenness from the ruin with the new life from blooming flowers and sprawling grasses. Cracked flagstones serve as their path, and Shaadi leads them to a table lit by candles, with a dinner set for the both of them. The table sits at the base of a tall tree, its branches covered with winding vines, and through the cover of the branches she can see the setting sun.

“I wish you could see this house as I see it,” Shaadi says, his voice soft. “Please reconsider leaving it.”

“You could come with me.” Ishizu grasps his hands in hers, ignoring his astonishment, surprised herself at how suddenly fierce she sounds. Some part of her wants desperately to run, but even as her feet remain rooted firmly to the ground she wonders just what she is trying to escape. There is nothing left of the painful place of her memories here, and although she can never break away from the shackles of her family's name it's startling to realize that she has control over it now. It will never control her again. “You could come with me to London. We could travel the world together.”

“But this is my world,” he says.

“Is that really what you want?” At first, it is hard to imagine—imagine anyone not wanting to run from this place—but then she looks at him again, and realizes that when he looks at it, he sees something very different from what she sees. He looks at her with that same dedication now, and Ishizu tightens her hands around his. She needs that stability, more than she realizes.

“I told you once, I live for you. I will serve you however you choose, and wherever you go.” She can see how his throat tightens as he swallows, and he bows again, over their joined hands.

“This is not the same place it once was,” he continues. “That is not what you want, right?” When he looks up at her, his smile is kind and warm. “We can rebuild it, however you like. It can be better than it ever was. I have already started, but…without an Ishtar, it has no meaning. Please stay.”

There are a great many things she can think of that are in need of rebuilding, and this house is the least of them. “Something better,” she says. “I think I’d like that.”

She looks around the garden; it combines the best of what is broken and new, and when she turns back towards Shaadi, she knows that there is no one she trusts more to help rebuild it than him. Perhaps he can rebuild more than just this house.

“The garden is beautiful,” she tells him. “I can barely even recognize it.”

“Then let me reacquaint you,” he says, and leads her forward.

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: The original prompt is as follows: An officer in the East India Trading Company, Matthew Beresford has made a life a world away from England and his father’s malevolence. Now it’s time for Matthew to return home.  
> There, he finds Miss Imogen Priestley, who’s worked tirelessly to save the Thornfield estate from ruin. Cold and aloof, Matthew gradually thaws as he begins to imagine a new life – with Imogen. But he’s torn – the blistering heat of India will wilt his English rose, unless he can vanquish his demons and find his home at last with her…


End file.
